


Summer Night

by Hyobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 13:39:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14770653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyobe/pseuds/Hyobe
Summary: Everything is so hot.





	Summer Night

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write this so enjoy :)

He watches. Eyes stuck on small toes protruding underneath bell bottom jeans. Following their every move, the frantic curls or melodies they tap, how the sun flutters on them. Seeing them is a rare treat these days, so is seeing Sam wearing this kind of pants. Dean loves it on him but Dad... he loathes it. Says they're unpractical and not even that good looking. Calls Sam a girly hippie wannabe.

Time passes as they still, repeating the same actions over and over. Sam reads, listen to music, murmurs the words, gets up to piss and Dean watches his every move, immobile on his chair, leather hard but warm against his back. It's always warms one way or another. Only surrounded by the usual motel decor and faint sounds of other lives echoing through the silence.

_Cold. Clock. Coffee._

Sam's nipples are hard under his shirt. Should be wearing a sweater but refused when Dean proffered one. Stubborn. They've been there for hours and nothing. Neither of their phone rang, neither one of them have said a single word to the other. They wait.

_Cold. Clock. Coffee._

Dean gets up, he's out of coffee. He feels Sam's glare on his nape. Ignores him in favor of avoiding yet another conflict. Stress. They've been on edge. Practically at each other's throats since they've reunited. Bad mix of negative and positive feelings with emotionally handicapped people. They feel but remain unable to express themselves. As always.

He puts the coffee machine on, waits arms crossed on his chest, eyes on his feet.

" - I wanna go to church. " Sam says, not lifting his gaze from Dean's glare.

Dean's eyes travel up and down, from the Pussy Wagon yellow shirt to Sam's toes and back to his eyes. They shine, dusk hitting his face just right. Gold, grey, blue. He never knows what color they are anymore.

" - Drive me. " There's an innuendo, subtle, hidden at the back of his tongue.

Pout forming on his face, he brings his knees between his arms, curling on himself. Cat. Dean can't resist. Doesn't ask why now, why does his faith becomes a priority in the middle of a hunt. Too tired maybe, or not interested. Choose.

He's forgotten the coffee machine.

_Cold. Clock. Car._

Coats and shoes on, they leave their room. Phones in hand, they hop in the car and drive. Deftones low on the radio they pass miles and miles, searching for a concrete box of faith. They don't find one so they stop at a diner. Dean's hungry.

Burger, coffee. Salad, sparkling water. They eat in silence, glaring at each other. Hate. Love. Choose.

Sam finishes first. Yawns and stretch against cheap cushions. Dean notices the contrast between his pale flesh and the bright red of the diner's furniture. He's lost his California tan.

" - Why did you wanna go to church ? " Dean asks around a mouthful of grease.

" - Dunno. Felt right. Wanted to pray a little for Jess and shit. " Lies.

" - Uh. "

He finishes his plate and throws twenty dollars on the table. They leave, not looking back, not taking the waitress number. No time. No need. No will. No words.

Church shows up three miles from the diner. White, concrete, ugly. Dean stays out, sitting on the hood of the Impala. Eyes on the stars, cigarette between his lips. He should light it. Can't. Sam took the lighter for a taper. He sighs, puts it back in the pack and goes back in the car. Perhaps Sam won't be too long. Perhaps. The lighter is on the passenger seat, staring at him as if it was amused.

_Smoke. Sigh. Stare._

Two minutes later he throws away his cigarette and hops out of the Impala. Impatience. He jumps over the three small steps, kicks the door open and slips inside before it closes on him. And then again he watches.

Everything is so dark in there. Ebony walls, ebony benches with burgundy carpets and gory tapestries. Small windows, sober stained windows. No priest, no old lady, nothing but a tape of organ melodies blaring through speakers from each side of the room. It's surreal. He's not really fond of surreal.

Sam is kneeling in front of the altar, murmuring things Dean can't properly make out. He's basking in the faint glow of the moon, paler than he's ever been. Oddly, he's even more fascinated. By the way he spreads his legs when he kneels. How his jeans cling to his ankle and pool on the steps. With his hair that have grown too long since he's got him back. His frame seemingly more polished than ever. Slimmer, leaner, more perfect.

With care he comes up behind Sam, grabs his waist as he kneels behind him, lips softly pressed against his nape. Their fingers entangle themselves together. Affection.

" - Why are we here ? " Dean whispers as he looses himself in Sam's curls.

Sam chuckles, baring his throat.

" - To worship our lord and savior Dean, why else ? " He sighs into Dean's embrace, throws his head back a little more. Angles it just right so his brother can sink his teeth into his flesh. Let's him suck a mark and moans once.

" - Dean... "

Their hands still lower themselves, swiftly unbuckling Sam's belt, letting it fall in front of them. It tints when the iron buckle hits the wooden floor but they can't hear it. The organ is too loud, fills the entire room with it's vibrations. Dean palms Sam's chest, his hand pressing against Sam's heart to feel it hitch, be aware of the very instant his pulse picks up. Be the sole witness of the slow and calculated crumbling of Sam between his very hands. Suddenly, he can't hear the organ anymore.

Dean keeps one hand against his brother's heart, the other one making it's way inside his pants. His lips kissing his lobes, murmuring sweet nothings against the shell of them.

Sam's the snake and the apple. Both tempter and temptation before Dean. He undulates under his fingers, seems to slip even though he doesn't try to escape.

" - You wanna do it here ? " He asks, tightening his grip on wherever his fingers can grab. No complaints about the location anymore. His mind is elsewhere, focused on something — someone — so much more important that he can tune out everything around him. Dives him head first in his bubble.

Dean breath is hot against Sam's neck. It distracts him more than any other point Dean's touching. He thinks. Tries to envision which part of the room would be the best. Not on the benches that's for sure.

" - The altar. I wanna do it on the altar. Please ? "

In a blink Dean is up. His hand lost but tight into Sam's curls as he pulls him up to his face. Lips bruising a kiss as soon as they can find their rightful place. Dean licks, swallows Sam's moans as he ravishes him of all his decency. Hands lost again. A nipple is brushing his fingertips, he pinches it, rolls it carefully between his index and thumb before he pinches again, pulling it towards him. He manhandles Sam, grabs him by the ass to drop him on the altar. Excitation.

_Sam. Sam. Sam._

He pulls the zipper down. Breaks it. His lips finds Sam's against. Bites them. Dean lowers their pants, grabs their members and brushes them together. Cries out. He strips Sam of his coat, his shirt, his pants, his socks and shoes. Devours him. All the while kissing him, biting and ravaging what is his.

Sam lays there, legs spreading slowly to take more of what Dean is willing to give him. He's glorious, gorgeous. Shades of beige, white, pink and red overlaying themselves over his skin, framed by dark brown locks sticking to his forehead and cheeks. Dean caresses them, takes in the sweet smell of vanilla that comes from them.

He feels lost between all the different pleasures his senses are attacked by. Sam's voice when he moans, not too feminine, not too masculine. At all diverging from what he feels when he takes in the sight his younger brother gives him. An angel. Even that differs with the smell he has sticking to his flesh. Sweat, vanilla, sperm and something much more sour.

It doesn't equal to the rush of pleasure and adrenaline he's crushed by when he touches him. Finally reaching him. Manipulating his body underneath his so that he was the perfect and docile doll he could be when he felt that it was what his brother wanted.

_Sam. Sam. Sam._

« -Break me Dean. »

It's an order. Something none of them can discuss.

Sam doesn't need to be lubed up or opened up. He's prepared himself, he's calculated everything. Dean still kneels between his legs, spreading with one hand his ass cheeks while his tongue gives a small lick to Sam's asshole. Shivers from both side. He keeps going, burying his face as much as he can. Contact. Dean leaves scratches everywhere. Spoils him and hurts him the way he knows. The way he hasn't forgotten.

He toys until Sam begs. Volatile sounds losing themselves in church. Fingers digging against Dean's skull, to keep him there, to suffocate him inside, swallow him whole. Bruising, aching, raw desire to melt into one another.

Dean's up, unbutton his jeans and whips his dick out. Gives one, two, three languid tugs before positioning himself. Push, push, push. Sam moans under him, tells him something as he hits his chest with a full fist that Dean ignores. He can't hear it. Whole attention solely focused on the heaving body beneath him.

_Sam. Sam. Sam._

He presses on hand on Sam's chest, pining him against the altar as he starts pounding, not waiting for Sam to catch-up. That's what he asked. Gives what he has, goes deeper and deeper until he can hear Sam meowing, feel him contorting and pushing and pulling him. Dean cries. He can feel warm tears rolling down his cheeks. Mixes them with Sam's as he kisses him. Pounds harder. Senses climax clawing building up in his lower belly.

Sam stops him, still babbling incoherently. Let's Dean's dick slip out of him as he grabs him by the shirt, pulling him down on the altar. Places him on his back so that he can straddle him. Ride him. Eyes too dark for Dean to see the usually bright colors they display. Sam kisses him, he's slow, maintains a rhythm between his tongue and his ass absorbing Dean.

Dean heaves as Sam leaves his lips, big sweaty palms cradling his face, hot shaky breath burning his face. Sam's close, he shivers, he can't contain his moan but holds Dean's stare.

" - Drive me. "

Nails dig into his waist as he moves Sam on him. Circles. Slow, fast, ragged. Their not gonna last long but they don't care. Dean feels like he has an Angel riding him, drowned in the light dripping on him. Dozens of liters of milk marking lactescent skin. They both give all they have. Four years of absence. Six month of awkward unexpressed desire. Fury, fear, hatred but also love. Hairs get pulled, teeth sunken in flesh, tongues bitten and massaged. The profanity excites them, increases the lust they feel for one another. Sam screams, Dean moans as they're struck by the climax they had been pursuing.

Shaky breaths, body pressed whole on the cold marble altar. Sam kisses small marks on Dean's neck, cries small "thank you"s as he stops trembling between his brother's arm.

**_Sammy. Sammy. Sammy._ **

" - I hate you." Sam finally spits once he's calm.

" - I know. " 


End file.
